Canary
by trufflemores
Summary: Caroline prompted me to write Blaine bringing home a canary. In which Kurt does not initially approve but Blaine might sway him after all, if only through sheer force of will. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"Oh, thank God you're here, you would not believe how incompetent the – what is that?"

"It's a surprise. Because this is our very special new friend –" Blaine hurried over to the kitchen table, careful to keep the bird cage balanced evenly in his arms as he drew the cover off with a flourish. "Mozart."

Perched tranquilly on the highest bar in the cage was a small, surprisingly stately yellow canary. Kurt, halfway to his third cup of coffee in as many hours and already carefully balancing half a dozen wedding planners, froze, set his coffee aside, and said in a gentle, devastatingly understanding tone, "Honey_._"

"I know that we aren't good fish parents." They'd elected to name their goldfish after flowers, a decision that had proven practical as they went through a half dozen species in one summer. "And we can't hope to be good pet parents if we can't graduate from small animals to furry ones, so I thought – why not try a bird?"

Painfully aware that his own enthusiasm for the project wasn't matched by Kurt, Blaine refused to give in as he cajoled, "They're easy to take care of. He won't take up any of your space! _And_ I'll make sure that he doesn't harm any of your pillows."

Kurt stared at the cage for a long, thoughtful moment, Blaine resisting the urge to scuff his toe against the carpet and offer an apologetic, _I could take him back if you really don't like him._

"Fine," Kurt said at last, surprising Blaine as he looked up from the cage.

Relief poured over Blaine as he reached for the top of the cage. "You won't regret this, I promise."

"I'll try not to," Kurt said, sparing the cage a last glance as Blaine relocated it to his work desk. "So what inspired you to buy a canary today?" he asked, folding his arms, wedding planning momentarily abandoned, it seemed. On a better day, Blaine might have dared to cross the distance between them and hug him, a welcome reprieve from the exhausting world outside, but he waited, unsure, until Kurt rolled his eyes and closed the distance himself, kissing Blaine soundly before saying, "I'm not mad, you know."

"I know," Blaine agreed. It was reassuring, nonetheless, if only because it confirmed that Kurt and he were still on the same page. He didn't want to jeopardize their relationship, especially over something as small as a _bird, _and he was pretty sure that Kurt felt the same, if the way that he hugged Blaine was any indication. Kurt's hugs were worth all the canaries in the world. "I do, I just – I think this'll work. I think this'll be good for us."

"Mmhm." Kurt kissed the top of his head before releasing him, padding back over to his designs spread out over the coffee table. "Just don't be surprised if it doesn't go exactly as planned. We haven't exactly had the best history with birds, either."

Blaine paused in adjusting the cover back over the cage, wondering how Kurt could possibly interpret makeup sex because of conveniently placed pigeons as _bad_, when memories of a different canary surfaced in his mind.

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," he said, unsure _how _he was going to maintain the promise but determined to.

Which was why, instead of curled in bed next to his warm, cozy fiancé like he should have been that night, he was curled up on the couch in the living room, one of their blankets draped over him as he watched Mozart leap nimbly from one bar to the next, peeping occasionally.

It was oddly soothing, even if his eyes were beginning to burn from being open for so long, and he really wanted to sleep except he was somehow, horribly convinced that Mozart would _die _if he did.

"Blaine?" Kurt called, voice heavy with sleep as he stumbled out into the living room. "What are you doing? Come back to bed."

Blaine hesitated, torn between the two pulls – on one side, sleep and Kurt, and on the other, Mozart – and immediately gave in to the stronger lure, rising to his feet with a sluggish lurch and covering the canary's cage once more, replacing it on his work desk as he did so.

He let Kurt latch onto him, sparing one last forlorn look at his newest acquisition before the cage and the rest of their loft disappeared behind the bedroom curtain.

He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, Kurt tucking in neatly at his side for snuggles.

. o .

In the morning, Blaine woke to the smell of eggs cooking, his stomach sinking at the implication. If Kurt was awake, then doubtless something _had _happened to Mozart and this was Kurt's way of trying to head off Blaine's sadness that he had failed yet again at keeping their pets alive. (The goldfish, Kurt had insisted, were all too fragile to make it in New York, anyway; it didn't stop Blaine from mourning them, but it did at least stop him from adopting any more.)

_Can't put it off forever, Anderson, _he chided himself, at last crawling out of bed and trudging out from behind the safety of the curtain.

Kurt _was_ there, cooking eggs on the stove and whistling a vaguely familiar tune. To Blaine's surprise and relief, Mozart was there as well, caged on the coffee table but leaping from one bar to the next, evidently just as vibrant as he'd been when Blaine had seen him last.

"Good morning," Kurt greeted, laughing when Blaine sauntered up behind him to bury his face against the back of his shoulder with a deep sigh, arms snaking around his waist to give him a squeeze. "Sleep well?"

Blaine made a noise that was partially agreement and mostly uncertain as he said, "Breakfast smells amazing."

"Of course it does. I made it," Kurt reminded loftily, turning to kiss his nose and add, "Go feed Mo- zart. Go feed Mozart."

"Mo?" Blaine echoed, feeling inexplicably proud that Kurt had nicknamed the canary as a blush stole over Kurt's cheeks and he nudged Blaine aside.

"Go," he ordered, his tone brooking no room for argument.

Blaine, readily and happily, obliged, content to take care of his newest responsibility.


End file.
